


Life Goes on, as it Never Ends

by anonomoose21



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Comforting Sherlock, Crying, Depressed John, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Military, One Shot, PTSD John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonomoose21/pseuds/anonomoose21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is suffering with the aftermath of his army days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Goes on, as it Never Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Well this is my first Sherlock fic that I am posting. I don't even know where it came from, it just kind of happened. Please review your thoughts! xoxo (also on FF)

John had been through a lot in his life. It started in his teens, when he first realized he was gay and knew he couldn’t tell his parents; even more so when his sister came out and she was kicked out of the house for being ‘sick beyond repair’.

The only person John has ever come out to is Harry, and thankfully she didn’t pressure him into telling anyone else (specifically their parents) for obvious reasons.  
John had a large amount of respect for his sister doing what she did. Even without knowing how his parents would react to this news, John would never be able to work up the nerve to tell his almost-always-absent and very old-fashioned parents that he is homosexual. So instead he told Harry and soon after, John left for the army. Harry completely understood why he would want to go but his parents thought it was ‘absurd’ and never spoke of the matter again. They didn’t see him off for his deployment.

John enjoyed his time in the military. He met many people that he grew close to and saved many lives in the process. He quickly made his way up the ladder and became a Captain, one of the most respected and trustworthy. It was all great, but that was before he started to witness his best friends get shot down right beside him.

Sure, John expected things like that to happen, after all it was _war_. But he didn’t expect it to be so traumatizing and painful. So damn painful. The guilt and loneliness ate away at him like a parasite. The, what John wants to label it as depression, made him careless and got him injured in battle; shot in the shoulder and for some reason made him limp. John never felt more useless and idiotic in all his life. How damaged he must be to come up with an injury in his mind and make it feel so real. Pathetic.

Then John met Sherlock Holmes. The world’s only consulting detective and, as the man claims, a high-functioning sociopath. The man drives John insane, in good ways and bad; and he is an easy distraction, John was even able to move past his psychosomatic limp because of him.

But of course, John knew better than to let himself grow close to someone again. Everyone he loves dies and he has no way of stopping it. John brings death wherever he goes and no one deserves to have someone like that in their life. People are dead because of him; really it should be John that is dead. He was the Captain, he watches after his soldiers, that was his one job and he failed and now he needs to live with it.

“John?” John’s thoughts were broken by the familiar and concerned voice of Sherlock. “What is it?” Sherlock walked over to him on the couch and sat beside him, well into his personal space.

“What?” John questioned and it was his raspy voice that told him he had been crying. Crying, one thing that John has not done since he was a child. He has always been so damn numb starting out in his teens. Where has this come from? He thinks of his military days all the time, he even has nightmares about them, and still he never cries. Only stares at his ceiling, battling the guilt inside his gut and the sadness of being alone and causing so much death. 

On the outside of course, he expresses nothing, like Sherlock. Although John knows Sherlock can feel, just like Sherlock knows the same of him. But John has reason for not expressing himself. Sherlock may have his reasons, or perhaps he just can’t help the way he is, but either way this is perhaps the first time Sherlock has ever seen John in such a state. John can see the shock and worry in his silver-blue eyes; he probably looks completely emotionless to anyone that isn’t John, or maybe Mycroft.

John looked away and quickly wiped his wet cheeks. “Sorry.” He mumbled and slumped down further in his seat. There is no way he can stand looking at Sherlock right now; he doesn’t deserve even the slightest hint of sympathy, especially from someone as amazing as Sherlock.

“John.” Sherlock spoke again, much gentler. Of course, Sherlock is deducing him and can clearly see that John is not alright and just may lose it again; and John very much believed he would when he is alone again.

Suddenly, John feels himself being pulled by the arm, gently but firmly. Surprisingly, he doesn’t protest but that is more so because he is too weak to do so, and that alone concerns Sherlock much more. His John would be pulling away and rushing from the room, probably grumbling something along the lines of _not gay_.

He pulls Johns legs over his own horizontally and wraps his arm around Johns back. John tenses up at such contact. He has never received this kind of affection, ever. Even as a child, his parents never so much as kissed him goodnight, let alone hug or hold him. This is strange for John, but suddenly he is gripping Sherlock’s shirt collar and pressing his face into Sherlock’s neck as he begins to sob again. 

For the first time, John realizes he is not alone. He doesn’t have to go through this alone and he may not deserve this kind of attention from someone but by god it feels so damn good and he would be damned if he will ever let go of this feeling; comfort and affection, and from Sherlock of all people. His pale hand is rubbing gently up and down Johns back and his other hand rested on Johns thigh, running a thumb in soothing circles as he cooed and shushed John and kept whispering- _It’s alright John. I’m here. I won’t leave you. I’m here. I’m here_.

Yes, Sherlock definitely deduced John but it’s not like this side of him was being kept much of a secret anyway. Even if he wanted to hide it he couldn’t. Sherlock is usually the one waking him from his nightmares, and he uses his laptop which is where John keeps all his personal word documents that his current therapist makes him write regarding his _feelings_. 

This is definitely strange behavior for the both of them. But perhaps not so much, this right here is John on the inside and Sherlock is more than welcoming of it. He is holding the broken and damaged wreck of a man in his arms and is completely and utterly accepting. Because this is who John is, shattered on the inside and defensive on the outside. Always putting up walls for anyone who comes near him, because really nobody needed to see the inside when all they would get is scraps of a broken solider and a neglected child. No one deserved to see it; it is too much of a burden.

Plus John didn’t deserve the attention it would bring, and John definitely didn’t deserve the person that was willing enough to break the barriers away. John is undeserving of Sherlock, John should be pushing him away like he does with everything else, but instead he is pulling him closer, selfishly. 

But if being selfish means he gets Sherlock, the man he is absolutely certain he loves, then so be it. John has always been selfless, thinking of others and taking care of them and curing them. But who has ever been there for _him_ and taken care of _him_? John needs this and he will take it with open arms. 

John was slowly lulled into sleep by Sherlock’s gentle voice and his warm and safe arms. The last thing he heard before falling asleep is Sherlock’s words- _I’ll always be here, John._ And for the first time in months, John slept peacefully.


End file.
